Tomorrow Forever
by Revanche
Summary: Because he has to know.


Title: Tomorrow Forever   
Author: Revanche   
Disclaimer: Navy NCIS is owned by CBS, or at least TPTB.  
Spoilers: Through 3 x 02, I guess.  
Rating: PG-13   
Summary: Because he has to know.  
Notes: Written for the "interrogation" flashfic challenge.

xxxxx

The light is cool and grey, thin, and silver sheets of heavy fog hover on the horizon. The world feels empty and sad and Gibbs feels strangely transient as he stands outside of Tony's door, coffee burning his hand through the thin paper cup. The neighborhood is quiet on this drizzly Saturday morning. No noise comes from Tony's apartment. He's probably sleeping. Most normal people are. Gibbs knocks twice out of courtesy, but no reply comes. He's not really expecting one.

Caitlin Todd died three months, fifteen days, and nineteen hours ago, he notes.

He waits another thirty seconds before unlocking the door and going inside.

The lights are off and the curtains are open, fluttering in the slight air-conditioner breeze. The room is bathed in the same filtered grey light, bleaching the carpet and the debris that clutters the corners. The television set is on, the volume muted. Gibbs stares at it blankly, unable to see the appeal. Something explodes onscreen, cinematic red-orange flames and shards of glass rushing outward. Absurd.

He turns the set off and goes to find Tony. Rain thrums against the windows and hisses as a car drives through the water accumulating on the pavement. He remembers Tony lying on the rainslick cement, blood seeping through that stupid striped shirt. The way Tony reached for the gun after it fell, the way he didn't let go of the weapon until Gibbs pried it from his too-loose grip. The way his fingers brushed against the edge of Gibbs' jacket as his eyes closed.

Just let me go, he'd said.

Or maybe Gibbs heard him wrong.

The bedroom is cold and the blankets look too thin for the weather. Tony's arms are crossed over his chest and he murmurs something unintelligible in his sleep. He is alive, though not unscarred, and as Gibbs watches, he shudders, stills. Pale against the dark linens. Water beads the windowpanes like frost. Gibbs feels intrusive, but he has to know. Even if he won't like the answer.

Even though he won't like the answer.

He has to ask, because he doesn't deal in intangibility. Doesn't play games with the people that he has to trust. This is a rule he made a long time ago. Most of the time, when it counts, he remembers to adhere to it.

He steps forward, his hand touching Tony's shoulder, and then Tony starts, gasping as though coming up from drowning, and lunges for the gun on his bedside table. Gibbs stops him midway, blocking his outstretched arm and clasping his hand, until he drops back against the bed, closes his eyes. Forces nightmares away.

"Gibbs," he says. He opens his eyes. "Gibbs," he repeats, sounding slightly more awake.

"Yeah?"

"You're in my apartment," Tony says.

Gibbs nods. "Good observation."

"No, I mean, you're in my apartment. Why?"

He shrugs. "Least I could do, considering you took a bullet for me."

"'s in the job description," Tony says, his words roughened with sleep. "You miss me that much?"

"Nah, just wondering how long the office'll be quiet."

Tony smiles. Yawns and blinks and tries to push himself up, to narrow the height difference. "Hey, boss, you wanna sit down or something?"

Gibbs sighs. Realizes that if he doesn't, Tony's going to tear his stitches trying to stand up Which will lead to more time spent in the ER with a half-conscious Dinozzo. Since that is not how he wants to spend his Saturday, he sits gingerly on the edge of the bed.

"So you just came to say hi or what?" Tony asks. "'Cos it's really not the best time. I was sort of asleep."

"Why'd you do it, Tony?" Gibbs asks.

He lets his head fall back against the pillow. Warmth seeps from his body, but Gibbs doesn't think he feels any of it. The blankets rasp as Tony shifts. "Reflex, boss."

"You made yourself into a target," Gibbs says. He takes a sip of coffee as if that will chase away the chill of the morning. There are dark smudges under Tony's eyes, as though he hasn't been sleeping well. Or at all. How long has this been going on, Gibbs wonders, and how has he not seen it?

"Not intentionally," he says drowsily.

"You have a death wish?" Gibbs asks, looking down at his coffee cup as he speaks.

Tony's smile is lopsided and his eyes are suddenly beyond tired. They're exhausted. Desperate. Something's broken. Something's wrong. "That's rhetorical, right?" he asks.

And Gibbs stares at him.

His smile fades and he shrugs. "Sorry. Must be the medication. Or something."

"Doesn't make it less true," Gibbs says mildly.

"I'm just tired," Tony says, not agreeing. Or disagreeing.

Gibbs sighs. Tony'd been fine at the funeral – at Kate's funeral. He'd survived, mourned, moved on. Just like the rest of them. He'd been fine right up until he volunteered to take point, hadn't he? This is just coincidence. Random. Meaningless --

Gibbs wonders if this would have happened anyway or if it's connected to Kate's death. Which is a stupid thought. Of course it's connected. Isn't it? This isn't . . . this is Tony. Tony, who smiles and laughs and is so good at pretending to be the epitome of the playboy that --

And of course that's it. He pretends. He's always pretended. And on this cold fall day, Gibbs can't blame him for it. Can't say he doesn't understand, though he can't say it doesn't hurt, either. He'd hoped they were beyond that. That they'd surpassed the need.

"Why?" Gibbs asks. It's not that he's unfamiliar with the temptation, the thought, but that he doesn't understand it. Not now. When there's still so much that they could do. Even if it's just one more victim, one more killer, it's something. To give in, to give up . . . there's no dignity in it. No purpose. No reason. Tony's quiet for long enough that Gibbs thinks he's fallen asleep with his eyes open, but then he speaks.

"I'm . . . I'm just tired, boss," he repeats. And despite the careful distance in his voice, there's something else, something too honest and raw and bare. Pleading. Something that Gibbs knows is true. Is real.

"Christ, Dinozzo, that doesn't mean you throw yourself in front of a bullet." He speaks automatically and then realizes what he's said. Because of course that's just what Kate did, even though it was because she did it to save him. She died for him, because of him, but that's different. And maybe Tony understands the difference, and maybe he doesn't, and maybe he doesn't care.

Tony's eyes drift closed. "It's okay," he says. "Don't worry 'bout it." And then he's asleep, his breathing deep and even. He won't talk about this on Monday. He might not even remember it. And Gibbs won't be able to say anything. And maybe he wouldn't, even if he could. He has what he came for. He has his answer. His insight. His revelation. And it's his own fault.

This, he thinks, is why he has rules. And why he doesn't ask.

The colorless autumn light streams in around them and Gibbs, who knows exactly how long it has been since Kate died, wonders how long it'll be until he's counting the days for Tony, too.

xxxxx

End


End file.
